How To Be A Hoe

03 | Underwear

If you think about it, setting up a new habitat to live in is actually kind of fun.

As you pulled out a multitude of clothes from your unzipped suitcase, your mind worked on its own, conjuring up ideas and pictures from aesthetic Pinterest and Instagram accounts that every middle school girl wants to have.

Maybe in college, living in an apartment so far away from the strict supervision of your parents and even the judgemental looks from acquaintances, this amateur interior decorating thing could be a lot of fun.

Your face twisted in slight annoyance—taking a long awaited break from your thought process—as you pulled out a pair of old socks, probably wrapped around a motherly note.

Yes, you admitted that Winx Club used to be a thing, but you didn't really appreciate the extra—or not so—effort.

"Great," you muttered to yourself, glancing behind you and grabbing the pair before stuffing it beneath one of the cushions decorating the front of your bed's headboard. The last thing you wanted was Jimin to see them, and be plagued for eternity by mockery and teasing smirks.

You didn't properly know him yet, but that seemed like the type of roommate he was. The one that looked like the guy everyone wanted, but talked like a bitch from the high school bully batch.

Dressed in nothing but an old Ramones t-shirt and gray pajamas, you looked like the absolute picture of a freshman, not yet received by the grinning crowds of the South Korean equivalent of frat parties.

In other words, a newbie with no date to the beginning-of-session bash.

Or whatever they called it.

Your clothes lay in little, messy piles around you, and you felt like you were sitting cross-legged on a cloud from the feeling.

Pairs of matching bras and panties—thanks to Victoria's Secret—and the more embarrassing ones too, twist together like pretzels, showing no care or organization in their way of arrangement.

You noticed a pair of your reliable, thick-skinned period pair, and almost cringe at yourself. At least the door's locked.

"What's taking you so long, babygirl? I thought we were going to hang out together."

Your eyes shut in defeat as the annoyingly pleased voice of your roommate made itself audible from your bedroom door—the one which you had apparently forgotten to lock. From the inside, at least.

"My immense desire to not having to see your face for the rest of the day," you answered with narrowed eyes, not daring to look up at him and thanking all the gods you knew for the fact that you were facing away from him. "Go away, Jimin."

"That's not a nice way to welcome your helpful roommate, you know," he commented casually, the sound of his soft footfalls sounding on the floor as he walked closer to your position. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning out my kitchen garden, obviously," you answered dryly. "I thought I told you to go away."

From behind you, he laughed, his soft voice sounding dangerously close to the pile of your underwear. "Well, you certainly thought."

The sound of him coming closer made you stiffen, and you glanced at the dirty pile towards your left nervously. "What do you want?"

There was a slight pause, in which you assumed that he knelt, due to the sound of his breathing being amplified in the otherwise silent room.

"Hm." His breath traced a warm pattern against the exposed skin of your shoulder. "I think it is sufficiently clear what I want."

You felt your ears go warm, and cursed the size of your t-shirt. With the neck being so wide, you were almost completely sure that the side was hanging off your shoulder.

"Well, you're definitely not getting it, then." You mustered up what was left of your dignity, now picking out your clothes more aggressively.

"Bet." Jimin chuckled, the warmth of his chin tickling your neck. "You want to bet?"

His biceps brushed the bare skin of your upper arms, making you shiver.

The warmth of his chest pressing into your back was almost too much, and you could feel the hard, lean muscle of his chest and abdomen against your skin.

His lips tickled the base of your throat, and you swallowed back a whimper.

Lord have mercy.

You shook him off, scowling down at your open suitcase, asking silently for the power to resist, and also that he wouldn't see your private, ah, collection. "Right."

Try me, bitch.

That must have been amusing, because he laughed, and you imagined the way his head tipped back and his Adam's apple jumped with the force.

The next few seconds were blissful silence.

Jimin didn't say a word, and you assumed that he had either given up, or was deriving peverted pleasure from watching your shirt dip lower down the side of your shoulder. With a jolt, you realised that you didn't really care.

Though, with your luck, you should have expected something worse.

"What's this?" Suddenly, he questioned in a mock-curious voice, his tone dipping deliciously into a lower octave.

You raised your eyebrows, but didn't look at him. "It's called keeping it in your pants. You might have heard of it."

"This looks more like keeping it in your shirt," he mused, and the teasing tone of his voice made you tense in suspicion. "Didn't know you had it in you, kitten."

Your eyes widened, and you whipped around, only to find him holding up one of your brassieres. "Jimin, give it back!"

He only grinned at you, his eyes turning into cute crescents, completely averse to his actual intentions.

You took a deep breath. "I said, give it back."

He raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back casually, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I am impressed."

"Jimin!" You grabbed one of the paper bags from Starbucks, and lunged forward, hoping to get a hit, but he jumped out of the way, scrambling backwards with an amused laugh.

"I still don't understand, though." He shook his head as he got to his feet, smirking at you in delight. "Why do you need a bra, anyway..."

You frowned, giving him a look.

He slowly grinned. "...when I have hands?"

You uttered a guttural cry of rage, lunging at him with clawed fingers, but he simply sidestepped. "Fuck you." You spat.

"That's rich, coming from such a specimen." He winked.

Specimen. Bitch, specimen?

"Shut up and give it back if you value your own damn privacy."

"Well, I'd hardly care if you went snooping about my boxers in the middle of the night." He snorted, holding the piece of cloth out at arm's reach, holding you back with an arm around your middle—tantalizingly out of your reach.

"Trust me, if I did that, it would include more than just snooping." You strained against his vice-like grip, clenching your teeth and trying in vain to retain some of your dignity. "Jimin. Give it back."

"Nope."

"Oh, you really are a whole bitch, aren't you?" You sighed, relaxing for a moment in his grasp, calming your expression and steeling your bicep. This might hurt. "And I thought you were going to be a little more giving."

"Oh, I am giving," he said. "Just...maybe not in the way you expect."

Oh, yeah? You wondered whether what you were going to give him was going to be just as unexpected. "The party's on Friday, right?"

It wasn't hard to act as if you were genuinely curious, because you were, a little bit. And not just about the probable free-for-all food, either.

Your sudden query must have caught him off guard, because his arm loosened by a fraction on your waist, but it was all you needed. "Yeah, why—"

Not wasting another moment, you attacked.